


Loyalty

by beers4fears



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Squadrons (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, F/M, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, I Am The Mayor of Trope City, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Implied Age Difference (Non-Specific), Mutual Pining, No use of y/n, Reader-Insert, Space Battles, Swearing, TIE Fighter (Star Wars), The Helmet Stays On, a little bit of DRY HUMPING, as a treat, lots of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27031435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beers4fears/pseuds/beers4fears
Summary: You have a thing for him. You don't really know why. It goes against all logic - and Imperial protocol.But when you're hurting, he is there for you. If anyone understands loyalty - and pain - it's Shen.
Relationships: Shen/Reader, Shen/You
Comments: 13
Kudos: 29





	1. Shit Detail

He was already halfway out of the briefing room, rolling his clenched fists, before the holotable had even powered down.

“Well,” Captain Kerrill said in her prim officer’s accent. “That reaction certainly solidifies this decision.”

You shot her a sideways glance. “I thought you said this mission _wasn’t_ shit detail.”

As much as you despised being relegated to lower-level tasks like this, you understood Kerrill’s reasoning. Everybody was on edge after the losses at Starhawk, and it showed in performance. Your focus was shot, your confidence lower than normal. An easy win would be good, though things that came easily were rarely as gratifying as a true challenge.

“Watch your language on the bridge, Titan Three,” the captain chided. “It’s unbecoming of a Flight Baron.”

You tugged at the sleeve of your flight suit and straightened up. She was right. Let Shen look like a pouting child. _You_ were a rising star, and he — well, he was…

Fucking magnetic.

You’d been trying so hard to get to know him, to draw him out of his armored shell, but he was the one member of Titan Squadron who didn’t seem to want anything to do with anybody outside of battle. While the other wingmen spent their time in the training gym together, or in the Overseer’s cantina, or _stars_ , just shooting the breeze in the hangar, Shen kept to himself. The few times he’d shared stories of his many past battles, you had to actively keep yourself from gawking at him - partly because you were in awe of his tales of survival and perseverance, and partly because he was just so _physically imposing_ , like a six and a half foot tall tower made of man and machine. And his voice - a deep, gravelly baritone, masked by modulation, grisled by years of wisdom and experience - buzzed at the base of your neck, making you dizzy.

You felt like a stupid fucking kid with a crush, made even more stupid by the notion that you had no idea what he even looked like.

“Titan Three,” Captain Kerrill interjected. “You’re dismissed.”

The next morning, Shen was waiting for you in the main hangar, located in the underbelly of the capital ship. He held two black bags, one in each hand, and wore his battered TIE pilot uniform.

“Shen,” you greeted with a nod.

“Three,” he grumbled, pivoting on the heel of his boot to trudge up the ramp of the support shuttle.

Your TIEs were suspended from the bottom of the shuttle’s docking rack, shined and ready for your assignment. The shuttle soared smoothly out of the magnetic shield as the support pilot navigated towards the jump-off point. You were headed for Generis, a forested planet with stiflingly hot days and cold, damp nights. It held Separatist ties during the Clone Wars, but Imperial intelligence agents were hearing whispers that the Rebels were scouting the three-planet system for a new base.

Your mission was to fly down low enough to avoid any potential air patrol detection and scan the planet’s surface for clues - like newly dredged tunnels, frequency-emitting comms towers, or forests cleared to make way for hangars. Compared to your previous assignments, it _was_ shit detail. Low risk. Low reward. No glory or cannon fire. But no catastrophic loss either.

Shen wasn’t having it. His desire to be on the front lines, caught in a spray of turret fire, was too great.

But you? The rawest, most vulnerable side of you - the side the Empire demanded stay buried impossibly deep - appreciated a break from the constant pressure. A lot of good soldiers died that day, after the standoff with Javes at Starhawk. But you made it out. You and the rest of Titan. The survivor's guilt still ate at you, gnawing at the edges of every moment since then. You left the wreckage too early. You could’ve done more. You should’ve. You know it.

“T-minus five seconds until hyperspace launch,” announced the pilot. You braced against the open doorway to your tiny shuttle quarters, swaying slightly as the ship dipped backwards into that swirling blue tunnel. “Clear,” the captain politely confirmed. “Shuttle to remain in lightspeed for nine hours, fifty-seven minutes. Enjoy your flight.”

You looked across the hall as Shen slipped into his own cramped quarters, sealing the door without a word. A heavy sigh pulled your shoulders downward. You tried to remind yourself that he was grumpy almost all the time. It was nothing personal.

Dejectedly, you lowered the overhead lights in your room and tried to get some sleep.

—

The thing about being in hyperspace that no one talks about is how kriffing _cold_ it gets. With most of the shuttle’s power diverted to the hyperdrive, the climate controls can’t keep up - especially when the stint in space-time is nearly ten hours.

You slipped from bed and slid your frozen feet into your boots, not bothering to tie them. There had to be an extra blanket or two in cargo, or at least an officer’s coat to cocoon yourself in for the night.

The ship was quiet and dark at this hour, save for the low directional lighting inlaid along the floor. Even the droids were powered down, proving that literally everyone but you could get some shuteye. A work lamp was illuminated in the back corner of the cargo bay, with a shadowy figure standing in front of it, bent over the top of a large crate.

Okay. Maybe one other person couldn’t sleep. You cleared your throat to keep from startling them.

“Three?” the figure asked, its voice a familiar rasp.

Your heart skipped several beats, like it had been dropped on the floor. It was Shen.

“Hey,” you said quietly, smoothing your mussy bedhead behind one ear. Of fucking course you’d look like this. “Can’t sleep?”

As you stepped closer towards the light, you saw him huddled over an unfurled duraweave cloth with several hook-and-loop closures sewn in orderly rows. From a soft-sided black bag, he took one polished durasteel hand tool at a time and placed them inside the various loops. This part - this kind of pre-flight preparation - was normal. What wasn’t normal - what you stared at with unashamed, flagrant curiosity - was his lack of gloves. Fuck, his _total lack of armor_ , save for the helmet. It felt like walking in on someone naked, though he was still covered almost completely from head to toe.

“No. Never can before a mission,” he gruffed. “Even the ones that are banthashit.”

You forced a nervous chuckle and started rummaging through unlocked bins and cabinets, trying to distract yourself. He wasn’t even wearing his flight suit - just a pair of loose pants and a grey thermal-weave shirt that was still too thick to tell if he was more hydraulic than human beneath it. The sight of him pulled forcefully at your focus, outright demanding your eyes land nowhere but squarely on him. You wrestled against the urge to steal more glances.

“You?” he asked over his shoulder.

“No, it’s kriffing freezing,” you paused, puffing warm air into your cupped hands. You weren’t sure if he was looking for brutal honesty, or just the typical half-hearted response offered up during small talk. You weren’t sure he’d even understand the sadness and anger you were feeling; the man had faced certain death too many times to be this fucking soft.

“Yeah. Fuckin’ hate being in hyper for this long,” he commiserated. “Swear my joints lock up even more than usual.”

When the last tool slid into place, he rolled up his kit for storage. You watched surreptitiously as he packed it away with his left hand. It was scarred over every inch and covered in red, rough skin that told of a nasty burn.

“What’re you looking for?” he asked, turning to sit on the crate he’d just been using as a makeshift table.

You whipped back around to the storage cabinets, trying not to get caught staring. “A blanket. Or coat. Or wampa pelt. I don’t give a shit — _something_ to keep warm,” you grunted, slamming shut another locker filled with nothing but spare vacuum-packed rations and water pouches.

“Not used to the cold, huh?” he teased. “Where’d you go to Academy?”

 _Holy_ _Maker_ , he was asking you personal questions. You stuffed down the stirrings of girlish excitement in your gut, trying to remain coolly confident and nonchalant.

“Not on a cruiser, clearly,” you half-laughed. “I studied on Lothal.”

He hummed in acknowledgement. “And before then?”

You turned towards him, a little stunned that he’d ask about your home world. It wasn’t Imperial protocol to talk about this kind of stuff with fellow pilots - though many did - and you expected Shen to follow the letter of that law considering his stoic personality. Small talk was _not_ his game. Ever.

…Unless this wasn’t small talk.

“Savareen,” you said skeptically, like you didn’t trust the question.

“No shit?” he laughed, leaning his torso against the back wall. “Damn, you really are about as Outer Rim as it gets.”

You flashed a roguish grin and hopped up onto the crate next to him. “Why do you think I’m so good at outrunning smuggler ships?”

Shen chuckled and shook his head, no doubt remembering that strike over the Ring of Kafrene where you nabbed Imperial coaxium reserves back from a bandit group of criminals. A chummy silence fell between you as you rhythmically swung your legs off the edge of the large box. The metal was ice cold and biting into the backs of your thighs, but you weren’t willing to let this end just yet. His attention was too rare. Too special.

“Listen, uh,” he started, gripping the lip of his crate as he mulled over his words. The knotted red knuckles of his left hand turned white as the flesh strained over thick, swollen joints. “Vonreg told me you’ve been having a hard time since Starhawk.”

You shot your eyes downward, desperately wishing you could plummet through the floor straight into the vacuum of space. Being called out like this, by the toughest pilot in maybe the _entire_ Empire, was painfully embarrassing. Fucking Vonreg. Why’d she have to say anything?

“It’s not my first mission with heavy losses,” you defensively spat back, the words bitter on your tongue.

“Mine either. Doesn’t make it any easier.” He relaxed backwards again, spreading his palms wide across the tops of his thighs. “Everyone who joins us in service to the Empire understands that they’ve signed a blank check. You will be asked to give everything - your body, your will, sometimes even your life.” He paused, rolling his wrists until they cracked, before turning towards you. “We all make a choice. We choose to fight for order. We choose to live among the stars. We choose to be loyal until death.”

A frustrated burst of air punched its way past your lips. “You seem to keep cheating it,” you blurted towards the floor, immediately wincing as you wished you could stuff the words right back into your mouth.

“No,” he said patiently. “I conquered it.”

He was so fucking wise. For a man of so few words, when he did choose to speak, everything he said demanded deep thought and deeper respect. As his sentiments settled deep in your chest, you took a measured breath and stretched back to match him. His gaze met yours - a marred, dark visor locked on wide, reverent eyes.

“I just want to sleep and I can’t,” you weakly admitted.

“Yeah,” he agreed in a low murmur. Gods, that deep rumble in his voice made your head feel like it was being held underwater, like being this close to him in a dimly lit room had sucked all the air from your lungs.

Shen shifted forward quickly and braced his hand over your knee to push off the crate. Sparks shot up the length of your leg, building heat behind your cheeks.

“Hold on one second,” he suggested. “Stay here.”

He slipped from the cargo bay, leaving you to silently panic in peace. Gods, what were you doing, harboring this unrequited desire for him. It was foolish, it was going to interfere with your duties, it was _against the kriffing rules_ , it was so unbelievably reckless and stupid and —

“Here,” he said, almost sheepishly as he reappeared to your left. In one hand, he held a steaming cup of blue milk - the powdered variety, stocked in the shuttle’s galley - and in the other, a balled up mess of dark grey fabric.

Looking up to his scarred helmet, you tried and failed to search for clues, for what this really meant.

“What is this?” you asked quietly, stepping down from the crate.

“It’s to help you sleep,” he nodded, extending the offerings out even further towards you.

With a confused furrow of your brow, you wrapped your fingers around the warm cup and gathered the fabric in your other hand, letting it unfurl between you. It was a hooded sweatshirt, at least two to three sizes too big for you.

“It’s my only one,” he motioned to the shirt. “So bring it back when you’re finished.”

“Oh,” you said, slowly draping it along the crook of your elbow as your cheeks burned even hotter. “Okay.”

Shen nodded again and brought his hand - the one less scarred and damaged - to your shoulder, gently squeezing. You tried not to nuzzle up into the friendly touch.

“Get some rest, kid,” he said warmly. “Big day of bitch work tomorrow.”

You exhaled a short chuckle through your nostrils, trying to shake loose the thrumming tension that danced along your spine.

“Thanks, Shen,” you smiled. You brushed past him, maybe a little too closely, and retired alone to your bunk.

You did sleep - for just a couple blessed hours - swathed in his soft sweatshirt, smelling pine and menthol and metal, dreaming of his arms wrapped around you.

—

Whatever chill you felt last night ran far from your memory as your TIE fighter broke through the atmosphere above Generis. The lack of shields exposed the craft to that intense, fleeting burn of initial entry, and the sweat collecting in the small of your back was hard evidence of it.

Shen’s starfighter led up ahead, watching the horizon for any potential oncoming enemies. It freed you up to focus on your surveillance, watching below for physical signs of Rebel scouting and keeping a keen eye on your scanner’s data readouts.

Generis was covered with thick, dark green forests and craggy mountains, making low-altitude flight equally stealthy and treacherous.

“Hate flying low like this,” Shen complained, as if reading your mind. “Reminds me of my crash on Serenno.”

“What happened there?” you asked.

“Got caught in a gust off a cliffside. Wing clipped the rock. Lost sight in my left eye,” he said through the static of your ship comms. “Don’t worry, kid. The helmet compensates for that.”

You laughed in earnest over the radio. “Just how much of you is cybernetics, Shen?”

A low, flirty laugh purred in your ear. It took every ounce of Imperial training in you to keep from crashing on the spot. Sweat prickled along your skin again, somehow even hotter than during initial entry.

“Your giggling is not an answer,” you blushed, so incredibly thankful he couldn’t see you this flustered.

“Fine, fine… enough to make me indestructible. Or at least mostly indestructible,” he yielded. “That work for you, detective?”

“Hmm…” you boldly purred back at him. “Seems to me like you’re just easy to shoot down.”

“Woah, kid,” he mocked offense. “Low fucking blow. I _am_ your covering fire, you know. Have a little faith.”

“Shut up and let me work,” you jabbed playfully, scanning a shadowy, jagged ravine below.

A dinging alert pinged across your enemy communications scanner.

“Hey, I got something,” you alerted Shen, all business for now. “It -- fuck, I think it’s Republic code. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Send it up to intelligence,” Shen ordered, a gruff annoyance coloring his tone. “If that Rebel scum is down here, they’ve definitely spotted us.”

“Transmitting now,” you confirmed, clipping the unfamiliar recording and preparing it for processing at the capital ship. Just as you hit the final button to send, a flash of bright green blaster fire zipped past your viewport.

“Shen!” you shouted, seeing him dive out of the way in time to reveal an enemy A-wing swoop from below in the ravine. The damned thing circled above and back to tail Shen, giving you the perfect opportunity to strike. After three tense seconds of missile locking, you blasted the A-wing from the sky and watched as it spiraled down into the wild forest below.

“Shit, kid,” he puffed a relieved exhale. “Saved my ass. We need to get--”

 _Boom._ Right in front of you, Shen’s TIE fighter was blown backwards by another blast of green laser fire. An X-wing soared menacingly over the top of the mountain ridge ahead, firing again straight towards your ship. In a moment of battle-hardened, whip-fast reaction, you swung an evasive dive, dodging the bolt. But you made a grave error - Shen’s ship was breaking apart at the rivets, and one massive vertical wing of his TIE fighter collided against the side of your cockpit.

You crashed hard, hearing the deafening crack of tree branches the entire way down. The last thing you thought of, before it all went black, was that Shen might survive this - but you might not.


	2. Breathe

He cursed the entire way down. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not today, anyway. And not to you. _Definitely_ not to you.

Explosions of splintered wood erupted around him as what remained of his starfighter punched an angry hole through the tree cover.

Every crash was different. On descent, he usually felt disappointment in himself, or unbridled fury towards the enemy. During the particularly nasty ones - the ones he wasn’t sure he’d make it out of - he’d feel peace wash over him, consoled by an overwhelming sense of duty.

He felt none of that this time. All he could think about was you. God _damn it,_ this was not supposed to happen.

The wind was knocked clean out of Shen’s lungs on impact. He struggled through a violent coughing fit, shoulders heaving forward as his hands worked at his safety restraints. A quick mental scan of his body revealed a rare best-case scenario, in which his physical, human body was mostly unscathed. Once he regained his breath and composure, Shen instinctively moved to reboot the fighter’s comms and call for help.

But wait. No. He couldn’t do that. Enemies were in the area. They had a rough idea of where you both were. He couldn’t make the job easier for them with a traceable distress beacon. Instead, Shen switched over to the short-range radio embedded into his helmet.

“Kid — Titan Three,” he called out in a hoarse cough. “You copy?”

Only silence greeted him on the other end. Fuck _._ He was gonna have to search on foot, and he had to be fast. Moving to pull himself up and out of the cockpit hatch, he felt his robotic knee collapse out from under him.

Shen cursed under his breath and reached back behind the chair for his soft-sided tool bag. He unzipped it in his lap and removed a pair of shears, a wrench, and a handheld soldering tool. A rough patch job, enough to get him on his feet, would have to do for now.

He was low on time. The Rebels were undoubtedly sending ground troops to the area, and those wicked bastards could arrive at any second. He saw your TIE fighter go down right after his, but he couldn’t tell how nasty the crash was. He thought of his own first collision, how his ribs had shattered in his chest like they were made from glass. Maker, he hoped that hadn’t happened to you. He hoped you weren’t in that kind of pain - the kind that haunted dreams for a lifetime, the kind that forced men to numbness... the kind that might get you discharged from service.

No. He wasn’t going to let that happen. He couldn’t. Stars, he’d finally worked up the nerve to talk to you, and he swore you were looking at him like you _wanted_ him. Like you yearned for him to come closer, like you weren’t ready to part ways, like a promise lived in the longing behind your eyes.

Gray said it would never happen, that you‘d never go for someone like him - someone so “ _seasoned_ ,” he’d scoffed. Kriffing asshole.

With practiced motions, Shen cut a wide opening in the leg of his suit and assessed the damage. The entire outside knee hinge was crumpled in on itself, but it wasn’t too bad to get operational on his own. With a few quick reattachments and adjustments, he was in motion - unsteady, but mobile nonetheless.

“Titan Three,” he rasped on the radio again. “Three, come in.”

Nothing.

He allowed himself a momentary daydream as he packed his tools away. He pictured you sneaking away with him after running a security drill around the Overseer, how he’d shed his layers in the safety and darkness of his quarters, and kiss your lips until they were red and raw.

An enemy craft screamed by overhead.

Shit. Where did you fucking land? He stumbled out of the wreckage and took in his surroundings. There weren’t any telltale smoke plumes to guide him. He started running - a stilted, sideways hobble that barely carried him any faster.

An unnatural break in the trees loomed ahead. It had to be your ship. _Had_ to be. Shen closed the distance and groaned when he finally saw your starfighter sitting in a mangled, sparking heap on the forest floor. The viewport was face down in the mossy dirt and gravel. Quickly, Shen unlatched the rear emergency hatch and kicked in the interior paneling to get to you.

You were still strapped in the pilot’s seat, unconscious and limp. He couldn’t tell yet if you were breathing, but he saw blood sprayed across the front of the viewport. Carefully, he unclasped your safety harness and braced his free arm under your body, gently catching you as you fell forward.

After pulling you from the crushed cockpit, he laid you down on your back and uncoupled your oxygen tubes, breaking the seal on your helmet. He shuddered a sigh of relief when it slid over your head, revealing a face that was very much alive - and still so beautiful, even with the sweat and soot of battle marking your skin. Your eyes slivered open in shaky flutters as consciousness began its creeping return.

“Kid,” he cupped the side of your head, gently rocking it side to side to bring you back into reality. He looked down your body, hissing as he saw a long, deep gash along the right dip of your waist. A wing fragment must’ve punctured the hull and sliced right into you. Blood was soaked into the duraweave of your flight suit and the soft cotton underkit you wore beneath, staining the muted green-brown leaves under you.

“Sh-Shen,” you sputtered, voice so hollow and strained that he barely heard you.

“I’m here,” he said, looking back up from your injury to your eyes. “We have to move.”

“I can’t —”

“We have to. The Rebels, they’re sending ground support,” he warned, shifting on his knees to help you up. “We're not getting captured. We‘re not getting killed. I won’t let it happen. Can you stand?”

He watched as your awareness returned in chunks, how your eyes blew wide in horror as you saw your side torn open, split to the muscle beneath.

“Oh, _fuck —_ Shen, my _gods_ , I c-can’t — _no_ ,” you stammered, gasping for ragged breaths. “You have to go. You have— t-to leave m— for the Emp-mpire. I can’t slow you down— _Go!_ ”

He grunted and shoved an arm underneath your shoulders and your knees, picking you up. You howled in pain and clutched the edges of his chest plate, digging your fingers into the stiff reinforced padding surrounding his armor.

“I’m not leaving you here,” he growled, pressing his hand firmly over the bleeding wound on your side as he carried you. “I won’t do it.”

Shen fought against his limp, carrying you through the forest towards a rock formation several hundred yards away. The entire journey, he muttered quiet words of encouragement, trying to keep you conscious until he could rest for a second, until he could rule out a concussion. Your blood was soaked through his flight glove and seeped down his forearm, working its way into the sleeve beneath his vambrace. The look on your face - a twisted grimace of helplessness and pain - tugged heavily at his heart.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was a cakewalk of an assignment, with no chance for this kind of peril. A tiny sniffle pulled his attention back to the moment. You were crying - fucking hells you were _crying_ \- and burying yourself deeper into his side, hiding your face into the crook beneath his armpit.

“I know it hurts,” he said, breaking just a little more at the sound of you. “Hold on for me.”

Finally, he reached a small natural cave in the rock, just like he’d hoped to find. The opening was narrow and hard to spot, and the interior curved around to better conceal both of you. After softly depositing you on the cavern floor, Shen gathered some nearby brush and quickly covered the entrance. It was cooler in here - a blessing compared to the oppressive afternoon heat and humidity of the forest.

When he returned to your side, you were shaking and hyperventilating, a hot trail of tears streaking down the side of your face. Shen kneeled and began unpacking his kit bag, setting up the medical supplies.

“You’re in shock,” he said calmly, working quickly to get started patching you up. “I need you to breathe. Deep, even breaths, kid.”

You shuddered through your next inhale, trying hard and failing miserably at calming your trembling chest. Shen pulled a pair of shears from his kit and cut the tattered cloth away from your wound, giving himself a wide area to work.

“I’m gonna get you cleaned up. Then we’re closing this wound,” he explained with an even-keeled steadiness - the kind of stoicism he knew you needed right now.

Discarding his soiled gloves, Shen disinfected his hands with a bacta gel and grabbed a pair of long tweezers. With careful precision, he removed debris from your side - shredded pieces of your uniform, fragments of twigs and leaves. By sheer luck, none of your organs were affected.

“Have you ever had anything cauterized before?” he asked.

You shuddered at that, hiccuping in a large gust of air as you shook your head.

“Okay,” he said, letting out a small sympathetic grunt. “Okay… I need you to follow my breathing. Can you do that?”

You nodded, letting a welling tear tip past your lashes.

“Good. Do it with me. Were going to count to three. Breathe in for three seconds —” he instructed, exaggerating his expanding chest and widening shoulders, “— hold — out for three — hold at the bottom.”

You matched your breath to his, watching him study you through these practiced motions. After another round, Shen fired up the cauterizer. Its low buzzing echoed against the cavern walls, making you wince before he’d even pressed it to your skin.

“Come on, kid. If I can do it, I _know_ you can,” he reassured. “Breath like water, mind like water.”

Without another warning word, Shen pinched your skin back together and cauterized the gaping wound closed, starting just below your ribcage. You shrieked, whipping your hand up to bite down on the back of your leather glove.

“One down — that’s progress. Keep breathing. You’re tough. Probably tougher than me.”

“No fucking-g way,” you hiccuped into a petulant scoff. “You — you’re su-superhuman.”

Shen’s lips curled up into a smirk beneath the helmet. Humor was good. If you had the energy to sass him, you were going to do just fine.

Knowing that, Shen resolved to work as efficiently and painlessly as he could get away with, closing up a particularly long section with steady, sure hands. The twisted, tormented look on your face spurred forward both his determination and his pace. He so badly wanted to be able to take all this pain from you, to channel it to his own shoulders and carry its weight.

Finally, he cleared past the worst of it, and began working towards the less tender area near your hip.

“I’m about halfway there,” Shen said.

“Halfway?!”

“Yeah,” he nodded, moving to close another section of torn skin. Your arm shot out to stop him, fingers wrapping around his elbow so tight he could feel his veins strain against your grip. “I need that arm,” he tutted.

“No,” you protested. “I can’t do this.”

“Sure you can,” he said, prying your fingers from his arm. He moved it back down to your side and hesitated for a moment, holding still and silent. With a small shake of his head, Shen quieted that nagging doubt in his mind and tangled his fingers with yours. “Squeeze _this_ ,” he squeezed your fingers in time with the word, “as hard as you need. I promise you won’t hurt me.”

You nodded up at him, blinking back tears that threatened to spill forward again. With a patient exhale, Shen steadied his working hand and sutured another inch of flesh, pushing through the discomfort he could see mounting in your body. You were pouring sweat still, shaking beneath his fingers as he continued.

“If you promise you won’t pass out on me, I can finish up the rest of this very quickly,” he offered. “Do you want me to do that?”

You whimpered a cry, looking away towards the cavern wall instead of up into his scarred helmet.

“I need a verbal answer, Three,” he prodded.

“F-fine,” you choked out. “Yeah, do it.”

“Good girl,” he said, low and comforting. Shen squeezed your fingers one more time, as if he could gently press courage into your palm for you to cradle and keep. He decided to talk to you through it - something to try and keep your mind off the next few agonizing moments.

“You know the weirdest thing about breathing?” he asked before buzzing shut another section of flesh. “Breath is both voluntary and involuntary. You breathe without thinking about it, every second of your life. But —” he paused, sealing another section together. You clenched his fingers in your grasp, tight enough to make his knuckles turn white.

“But —” he continued, “you can control it whenever you want. All you have to do is think about it, and your breath changes.”

A shaking grunt pushed past your lips as he finished the second-to-last suture, followed by a desperate gulp of air.

“Are you still breathing?” he asked pointedly, holding the cauterizer away until he saw the measured rising and falling of your chest. He squeezed your hand once more, trying to impart more bravery. More comfort.

And just like that - the last of your wound was closed.

Shen moved away from you to grab the bacta gel and stim canisters, gingerly clearing away leftover blood and prepping the injection site. When the stim’s contents emptied into the muscle, he saw the tension in you immediately melt away. Your jaw relaxed, slacking in time with your knitted brows.

“Gods, that is so much better,” you said with a weighty sigh.

“Good,” Shen nodded. “You did good.”

You turned your head to look at him, eyes catching the open knee of his flight suit before travelling up to his visor.

“Thank you,” you said meekly, wiping away the trail of tears and dirt on your cheeks.

Shen nodded silently and put away his tools.

Night was falling. The mission briefing doc made note of the planet’s frigid nights, how the day’s stifling humidity would rapidly drop to a bone-deep, wet kind of cold.

There was one emergency blanket in the kit bag. Wordlessly, Shen unfolded and draped it over you, tucking it gingerly around your sides.

“What are you doing?” you asked, shifting to look up at him.

“Almost nightfall,” he said matter-of-factly. “I know how cold you get, Three.”

For anyone else, the low light would’ve hidden it… but through his helmet’s visual enhancers, Shen saw a deep blush bloom across your cheeks.

Now was not the time to make a move. He knew that. But it didn’t hurt to remind you how much he cared.


	3. Sleep

“Have you sent a distress call?”

The blanket was pulled up to just below your eyes. It did little to hide the rolling bouts of shivers that ricocheted through your body.

“Can’t,” Shen said.

He was leaned up against the cavern wall, seemingly unaffected by the stark cold. A small battery-powered lantern was illuminated beside him, giving just enough light to the space to be able to see each other. He’d stripped his uncomfortable duraplast armor off, along with yours, and didn’t bother replacing his blood-soaked gloves. You tried not to get caught staring at his bare hands, quickly averting your gaze every time his helmet tipped in your direction.

“Distress calls are traceable,” he continued patiently. Shit, you knew that. “The crew on the Overseer knows we’re here. The extraction team should touch down before sunrise.”

He sounded so sure of it. You shivered and scoffed beneath the foil emergency blanket.

“You think we’re that important?”

Shen nodded and stilled, offering no further answer. You could feel something strong emanating from him - a pensiveness, or maybe just exhaustion - but were too nervous and tongue-tied and _cold_ to ask what was the matter. A lengthy silence stretched between you, seemingly amplifying the embarrassing chattering of your teeth.

You let your eyes unfocus on the soft cavern floor - not on his hands, _not_ on his hands, _not on his hands_ \- and imagined being assigned somewhere hot and dry, like the arid planes of a desert planet.

The mental trick did little to help how frozen you felt, and instead only made you craft up elaborate fantasies about your time between these hypothetical dune patrols. You pictured Shen pulling you into an empty armory, shady and temperate inside its thick adobe walls. You could hear his deep baritone as he teased you for crying out too loud, digging your nails into his shoulders as he filled you, pinned against the rough wall.

Shen cleared his throat.

“You haven’t been shown much loyalty in life, have you?” he asked, yanking your consciousness back to the real world.

A fiery blush flared across your cheeks, streaking hot like blaster fire.

The question struck deep, piercing some tender spot you’d worked hard to forget. Shen’s helmet was locked onto you, watching with an intensity that made your creeping flush extend from your cheeks down the length of your neck. You felt exposed, naked - like he was seeing not just through your walls but through your very bones.

You remembered how your first commanding officer had told you your eyes were too expressive, that they betrayed any lie you told and any secret you needed to keep. His advice was simple: keep the helmet on as long as possible in an interrogation. This felt similar, didn’t it? Silently, you cursed Shen for leaving your helmet behind at the crash site, for stripping away the one layer that could’ve masked your vulnerabilities and your longing from him.

He remained as still as a statue while you looked anywhere but in his direction. A powerful chill wracked your body, shooting down your limbs like an electric shock. Drawing the blanket up higher around your shoulders, you held your body tight and tense. Maker, it was so fucking _cold._ How was he doing it? How was he just sitting there un-fucking-bothered? Was so little of him real flesh and blood that temperature became irrelevant?

Shen shifted suddenly, rolling his wrists as he mumbled something under his breath - too quiet for the vocoder to pick up.

“What?” you asked, voice muffled beneath the foil blanket.

He peered down at you and shook his head, moreso at himself than you. Not a second later, he was sliding across the damp cavern floor in your direction, reaching out to untuck the side of your makeshift cocoon.

“ _Hey_ —” you protested with a whine, quickly choking it back down your throat as he stretched out beneath the cover, long and lean beside you.

He brought the loose end of the blanket to his far side and inched forward until your knees nearly knocked together. Your heart boomed erratically behind your ribs, flooding your ears with a static rush, making your pupils blow wide. It felt as if streaks of lightning were arcing between you - blistering hot and blinding bright, your bodies charged and dangerous like floating asteroids in the Zavian Abyss.

The initial chill of fresh air that rushed beneath the blanket subsided almost instantly, stamped out by the strong, pervasive warmth of his body heat. You found yourself leaning into it, your head brushing against the strong plane of his chest.

“Maker, you’re like a furnace,” you murmured, voice wobbling through a new tremor.

Shen hummed in response and gathered your bare hands in his, folding them between both of his palms. He rubbed roughly over them, imparting warmth and massaging the blood back into your stiff joints. It felt absolutely incredible.

“Is this okay?” he asked, slowing his motions just slightly while he waited for a response.

You blinked up at him, feeling the soft leaves shuffle beneath the side of your head. You couldn’t hide from him - not like this, not when he gently held your hand, not when he was so close you could smell him.

You nodded, eyes hooded and trembling lips parted, unable to hold back the syrupy-sweet longing that seeped outwards from your chest.

Shen squeezed your hands once more before letting go, shuffling his bottom arm up under your head for you to use as a pillow. You felt as if you might explode from the tenderness of his actions, at how careful and protective he was being.

His free arm came back between you, grasping one of your hands and playing idly with your fingers beneath the blanket. You wanted to get closer, to press yourself flush against him and feel his chest expand and contract with breath.

Your interest in him had stretched on for so long and been so hidden, kept secret like some top-level Imperial intel. But there was something about this - maybe it was his hand tangled with yours, maybe it was the way you could hear him breathing, kriff, maybe it was the after-effects of the stim shot - that made you bold.

After all, without your helmet, was there any sense in trying to hide anything?

You nuzzled into him, closing the last of the distance between you. Shen made some soft, choked sound, as if he’d just witnessed something rare and beautiful. You slinked an arm around the dip of his waist, feeling the unmistakable warmth of human flesh and muscle beneath his suit.

“Three,” he breathed out, sounding just as pleasantly drunk on this feeling as you were.

You shifted deeper into him, tightening your grip around his torso.

“I like this,” you whispered into the center of his chest.

He grunted softly, threading his fingers up into the hair at the nape of your neck. Gently, _so_ gently, he began running the blunt edge of his nails up and down your scalp in small sweeping motions. You melted against him further, feeling wondrously dizzy under this kind of attention. A simmering heat began to build between your hips.

“That feels so good,” you whispered again, dampening the fabric under your mouth. Your own fingers ran down the curve of his spine, pressing into the knotted muscle surrounding it.

Shen trembled just slightly and tugged at the roots of your hair.

“Fuck,” he sighed out. The sound of it plucked a tight string in your gut, lighting your senses ablaze.

You wanted to kiss him. Maker above, you wanted to feel his lips move over yours, to taste the slick heat of his tongue sliding into your mouth. You pulled your hand from his back and slid it between you, running up his chest towards the collar of his flight suit. Nervously, you fumbled with the fastener.

Shen froze. Quietly, softly - like a secret prayer - he said your name. Your _real_ name. Not kid, not Three… your name.

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked.

Shen exhaled shakily. “No,” he breathed. “No, keep going.”

You shuffled your other hand up and carefully peeled apart the hook-and-loop material at the neck. Shen squeezed the base of your skull, earning a sweet sigh from you.

Slowly - incredibly slowly - you inched down the zipper of his flight suit, revealing the tight black undertunic he wore beneath it. Stars, he smelled so good, just like the hooded sweatshirt he lent you on the transport shuttle. You hooked a finger around the top of his tunic and pulled it down, revealing a warm strip of skin to the cold air. You could see his neck flex and contract as he swallowed, twitching underneath the graze of your fingers.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, before you could allow any lurking fear to stop you dead in your tracks, you shifted up and brushed your lips against him, the delicate skin lightly catching and skidding across his neck. He shuddered beside you, clutching you closer to him, emboldening you to deepen the kiss. When your open mouth connected again, he let out a low groan that vibrated up your jaw, settling in the spaces between your ribs.

“ _Maker_ ,” he rumbled, running his hand down from your head to the small of your back. He pressed the heel of his palm against you, pulling your hips flush against his. Blushing fiercely, you slid a leg between his thighs, slotting them together beneath the blanket.

His breath picked up in tandem with yours, quick and shallow as pressure coiled itself tight in your lower belly. You quietly whimpered against the base of his neck, feeling his hand slide lower to knead the curve of your ass. He whispered another quiet swear.

“Can’t believe this is real,” he muttered, “— that you really—”

You kissed his neck again, grazing your teeth along the top ridge of his collarbone. Shen gasped quietly and hitched his hips forward, rocking himself against the inside of your thigh.

“You gotta stop doing that,” he panted, falling into a breathy growl as you kissed down to the dip of his chest, rolling your own hips forward to meet his. Sweet, liquid heat pooled between your legs. “Your - your side,” he stuttered out. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You puffed a laugh against the bare strip of his chest before pulling your head back. He peered down at you, blinking up at him through dark lashes, your lips flushed red and slightly swollen, gently glistening in the dim cave.

“Don’t give me that look, either,” he gruffed, only half-serious. You smirked and feigned ignorance.

“What look?”

He squeezed your ass, hard enough to make you squirm against him.

“Listen to me,” he said, low and demanding. A thrill shot up your spine. “Not here. Not now. But when we get back to the Overseer… once you’re healed...”

He trailed off, moving his hand to hook behind the bend in your knee. With a light tug, he pulled it up against his hip, allowing you to feel the evidence of how much he enjoyed touching you, hot and hard under his clothes.

“Yeah?” you urged, breathy and flustered. He twitched against the fabric of your jumpsuit.

“...I’m going to show you exactly how I feel about you… ever since you joined up with Titan,” he continued, pulsing between your legs. “I’ve wanted you every single day. Did you know that?”

You swallowed back your shock and your heady arousal, cursing yourself for not noticing his interest sooner. You mean you could’ve been doing this for _months_? Getting wrapped up in him as he whispers such gorgeous things in your ear?

“No,” you answered. “No, I — I didn’t realize. Fuck, Shen…”

He moved his hand to brush a stray hair from your face, gently stroking along the shell of your ear.

“Sleep, pretty girl,” he said. “We’ll be home soon.”

“Fucking hells,” you groaned, slipping your leg from its place on his hip. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“Just close your eyes.”

“Smart ass,” you quietly teased, jamming a finger into his side. “You got me all... riled up.”

Shen didn’t flinch from your little jab, and instead pulled you closer to him, cradling your face in the warm crook of his neck. His chest was puffed up, prideful and happy, filled with a sweet lightness.

“Sleep,” he said again, settling the debate as you both relaxed into each other. Gradually, the boiling tension fell back down to a manageable simmer as exhaustion pulled heavy at your eyelids.

It felt good. It shouldn’t - not here, on a frozen dirt floor in enemy territory. Not with a hastily cauterized wound that sliced angry and red up your side. Not when you weren’t sure when your fellow troops would find you, or if you’d escape unscathed.

But with Shen pressed to your side, warm and strong and loyal, breathing in time with you as you drifted off?

It was the best sleep you’d gotten in weeks.

**Author's Note:**

> We all are in love with this man. I will accept no further comments or questions.  
> (Just kidding, comment and tell me I am not alone in this.)


End file.
